


Consummate Liars

by Silvertwist (pocketTherapist)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Hurt Loki, Hurt OC, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of dark, Loki Feels, Loki-centric, Massage, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, POV Original Female Character, POV Second Person, Self-Indulgent, Slavery But Only Sort Of, The Author Regrets Nothing, but they kind of end up that way anyway, neither character is a really good person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketTherapist/pseuds/Silvertwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which two very intelligent idiots have a lot of arguments, struggle with the darker side of their natures, and generally manage to fix each other up, entirely on accident, and in which Phil Coulson thinks that his master plan was a very good one indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which the Stage Is Set

**Author's Note:**

> So... first Avengers fanfiction, and first fanfiction at all to be posted online in many, many years. It's set after the events of the first Avengers, and deals with an unusual point of view from an original character--that's *got* to make me popular, right?
> 
> With no further ado, let's commence the torture of characters and perversions of intent that we call "fanfiction."

Okay, so this is definitely the craziest thing you’ve ever seriously contemplated doing. It’s certainly not going to be your best decision. But still, you think, looking at the odd pair in front of you, maybe it isn’t the worst, either. The big blonde Viking standing before you looks down at you with an impossibly pathetic gaze, but it’s the figure next to him that holds your attention. He kneels on the ground, dark hair falling loosely into his face, hands bound behind him, gag still fitted firmly to his face. _Loki._

The last time you’d seen this face, it was through an exhausted haze of bleary victory. Still, the image is burned into your mind—fiery eyes, spitting defiance, shoulders back, arrogance limned in every line of his body despite the muzzle locked over his jaw, silencing him like one would a vicious animal. There is none of that fire in the slim figure now, only exhaustion and quiet resignation.

You blink, twice, before your tongue unglues itself and you cast an incredulous glance at the impeccably dressed figure guarding the door.

                “Phil, I love you to death, and you know I’d do anything I could for you…. But you have got to be kidding me.”

He shakes his head grimly, his tired face tempered with a soft amusement that says he knows exactly how ridiculous the situation is.

                “There just was no one else we could trust. Those that could keep him confined shouldn’t have access to him, and those who should have access to him, can’t keep him safely.”

                The figure on the ground shifts slightly and you know that he understands the warning behind it as well as you do. Anyone who got their hands on him now was likely to have less than kind intentions, and no one else could keep him away from them.

You give your head an exasperated toss and level a pointed glare at the demigod.

                “I don’t have the resources to keep him confined, either, even if this place is supposed to be secret, and I can’t control him…”

                You trail off with a nearly inaudible sigh. You already know your final answer, and have known it since Phil contacted you two days ago with an urgent request for sanctuary. Now that you know who it is, you can understand his desperation.

                Loki looks up at you, green eyes dull, and you’re not sure he’s actually seeing you at all when Thor intervenes.

                “He will do you no harm, my Lady. He cannot, for he has given his word and is honor-bound to keep it.”

                You almost choke on your laugh, because you know your Norse mythology as well as anyone, and you hesitate to believe the word of the Liesmith even at the best of times. Now, defeated and bound, you wouldn’t trust Loki to do _anything_ that he didn’t believe was in his best interests.

                “What other assurance have I? I would not take in the Silvertongue himself on his _word_ alone.” you demand, and then wince because wow, you picked up the Shakespearean fast.

                Loki drops his eyes again at this, and Thor looks briefly pained before he lets out a gusty sigh and digs within his cloak for something. He hands the object he produces over to you, and you realize that it’s a small silver pendant strung on a necklace chain. You raise a questioning eyebrow at Thor, and he almost trips over his own tongue to explain.

                “This is a special charm, bound to Loki…or rather, he is bound to it. He cannot touch it, he cannot harm the bearer thereof, and…“ He hesitates, and although Loki doesn’t move, you see a flicker of something race through his eyes before Thor finishes. “And he must obey the commands of whoever holds it.”

                It’s a struggle not to react visibly, but you manage to hold a straight face while your brain rolls over in your skull, one thought coming to the forefront of your mind, strikingly clear from the rest of the chaos. _Fucking magic._


	2. Graft the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title references the desire of both of our two characters to never show weakness--i.e., to graft their masks onto their faces so that nothing real ever shows. 
> 
> Aren't our little broken liars beautiful?

                You glance from the pendant to Loki, wrestling with your own mind as you contemplate the situation. See, the thing is, you’re not too good with power, in the same way that someone with an addiction is not too good around their drug of choice.

                You never claimed to be a good person, after all, and everyone knows all too clearly who the heroes of this story are already. With the insight that comes with brutal honesty and self-knowledge, you acknowledge that you should _not_ be given this…leash. You don’t even know what you could possibly do in one of your less pleasant—or less sane—moods. You turn to Thor and ask the question that has been tugging at you.

                “What happens if he disobeys an order?”

                Thor looks grim, and that’s all the answer you really need even before he speaks.

                “Refusal to obey commands will be punished by the pendant, in increasing amounts until he acquiesces. Direct disobedience will leave him… incapacitated within moments.”

                You feel a sick flutter of anticipation in your gut, the same one you felt whenever you caught a frog or other small animal, when you were much younger, and you grimace, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that control of all things begins with control of yourself.

                After a long period of hesitation, your shoulders slump and Phil gives you a shit-eating grin.

                “I knew we could count on you, Lady.”

                You offer him a half-hearted glare that is abruptly interrupted as you are swept into a bundle of muscular limbs, Thor’s exuberance overflowing like that of an excited puppy. Almost before he touches you, you’ve pulled the knife from where it’s sheathed against your forearm and struck out viciously at his eyes.

                Only his inhuman reflexes save his left eye from blindness as he jerks his head back, releasing you as if stung. He stares at you for a second of absolute silence, then throws his head back and laughs with abandon. It wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, and it catches you off-guard, because that’s not how people usually react to being almost stabbed. Thor, however, seems completely comfortable with the situation.

                “Oh, you have the spirit of a warrior! I think you will be a very good match for my brother, indeed. He has need of someone with spirit to… watch over him.”

                You offer him a much more convincing glare than the one you just shot at Phil, your knife disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. You’re less annoyed with him than you are with yourself, though. You _still_ haven’t managed to break the habit of stabbing first and assessing later, even after years of somewhat halfhearted effort.

                Phil steps forward—in between the two of you, you notice—and claps a hand on Thor’s shoulder, recognizing that this conversation is reaching the end of any semblance of productivity.

                “Come, Thor. We can’t be away from the others for too long. We don’t want SHIELD to know he’s here. I don’t think that would end well.”

                Thor sobers abruptly and gives you a solemn bow.

                “I thank you, Lady, for giving my brother sanctuary.”

                Sanctuary. What a funny word for a situation you are sure that no one wants to be in and no one has any choice about. You acknowledge his gesture with a graceful dip of your head regardless. He turns, crossing the floor in a single massive step, to crouch next to his brother.

                “Be safe, brother. Mayhap living here for a while will do you some good. Perhaps that is what our father intended when he sent you back here.”

                Loki stiffens in the same motion you do, throwing a dark glance at Thor that makes you _sure_ that he’s not nearly as apathetic about this as he has seemed thus far. You wonder, briefly, if he had the same issues with his father as you had with yours, and again you have to strangle a laugh without humor. Knowing your luck? It’s entirely possible.

                Thor seems not to notice the demigod’s reaction, although Phil’s sharp glance at you says that _he_ , at least, had not missed yours. The huge blonde god straightens with a smile, seeming to have convinced himself that everything will work out beautifully. He follows Coulson to the door, and neither of them look back as they vanish into the gathering dusk, leaving you alone with your new…charge.


	3. Silence Louder Than Screams

There’s a long moment of silence before anyone moves. Loki stares after his brother as if he can’t quite believe he was just left here, and you look from the door to Loki with a slow, sinking feeling that this was a bad idea. You open your other hand, the one with the necklace, and give the runic pendant a distasteful glance before sliding it over your head. As soon as it comes in contact with your skin, you feel a faint humming sensation, not unpleasant, and you shiver as you realize that what you are feeling is _Loki_. He jerks at the same moment you shiver, and you know he felt the same thing you did, amplified a thousand times. His eyes flick upwards toward you, fixing on the pendant cupped in your palm.

                You hesitate, because Loki’s face is closed and his eyes shuttered and dark, but you feel a surge of fear that is not your own, accompanied by helpless rage. It seems, that at least while you are in contact with the pendant, that you feel some echo of his emotions. _That_ was not expected, but you feel a flash of gratitude that this leash is accompanied with its own system of checks and balances—if you feel what he feels, it will ground you when you are no longer yourself. You take a deep breath and focus your attention once more on the kneeling demigod.

                “Loki, stand.”

                He complies with startling alacrity, bowing his head forward to counterbalance his bound hands as he brings his feet under him and stands with fluid grace. He does not pick his head up again, instead letting his dark hair hang over his face. You think it looks distinctly longer than it did at the Battle of New York, which is odd because that was literally two months ago.

                You step within range for the first time since his—their—arrival, lifting a hand toward the binding on his mouth, and he flinches violently away from the hand approaching his face. You pause, show him your open, empty hand, and continue moving slowly, as you would with a frightened animal. Your fingers touch the smooth surface of the gag, and you are momentarily mesmerized by the cool, foreign material. It doesn’t feel like metal—more like someone poured a liquid into this shape and convinced it to stay there. You slide your hand around to the back of his head, feeling for the latch, and are struck by the intimacy the position would imply in any other situation. Then your fingers find the release and the entire thing comes loose in your hand. You pull your arm back and drop the muzzle on the table behind you.

                Loki doesn’t say anything, doesn’t so much as move to work his freed jaw, but his eyes track you as you circle around behind him to free his hands, only to discover that the shackles binding him are locked individually around each wrist, held together by a detachable chain. Clearly, these cuffs are not meant to be removed, and the metal loops that the chain is connected are usable for a multitude of restraints. Your eyes narrow in a sudden surge of unreasonable fury. Prone to power madness you might be, but you cannot imagine the cruelty required to do this to another sentient being.

                You release the chain and circle back around to place it next to the muzzle, watching somewhat warily as the demigod who attempted world subjugation brings his hands around front and inspects them impassively. As with the gag, he shows no sign of discomfort, not even rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension no doubt coiled in them. After a long moment Loki looks up, eyes glittering, and only the weight of the pendant in the hollow of your throat prevents an instinctive reach for a knife that you know could not protect you.

                This, you think with a thrill of knowledge, is the conqueror who nearly tore SHIELD to pieces from within, who tangled the Avengers hopelessly in his schemes, who forced a crowd to their knees with effortless authority.

                Unfortunately for him, perhaps, authority has never had much sway with you.

                If he expects you to be easily bullied, he is in for an unpleasant surprise. You straighten, meeting his eyes squarely, chin up just enough to come across as condescending without seeming defensive (and isn’t that something you had to work at, to look down your nose at a population which, by and large, towers over you). As if sensing your shift in mood, Loki pauses, then does something entirely unexpected.

                He drops into a smooth bow, a charming smile spreading over his lips.

                “Well met, my lady. I am Loki, of Asgard.” He meets your eyes and winks, his entire demeanor playful and teasing. “And I fear I have burdened you with glorious personage.”

                You recognize the near-quote from a video you definitely shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near, and this time you allow yourself to laugh, clear and ringing and perhaps faintly mocking. You might as well play along, so you drop a tiny curtsey—definitely not one fitting his station, a deliberate move—and return his smile with a brilliant one of your own.

                “I am Lady, and it is _truly_ a pleasure, Loki of Asgard.”


	4. Best-Laid Plans

You both spend a few minutes eyeing each other, sizing the other up as a threat, or perhaps a competitor, in this game that you know instinctively that you are playing. You feel a flicker of true amusement emanating from the necklace and know he knows perfectly well that your actions were deliberate.

                After a long moment, you tilt your head to the side and ask with perfect innocence, “So why did you do it?”

                A hint of a wry smile quirks at his lips before his face smooths out, his eyes narrowing with flawless control as he answers, “I do not have to explain myself to _you_ , little mortal. Such insignificant beings as humans should rejoice in the opportunity to be ruled by their betters. I would have brought you into a new golden age.”

                That’s bullshit if you’ve ever heard it, and you don’t repress the scoff that is your reflexive reaction. Loki blinks, seemingly startled by a reaction involving amusement and scorn rather than anger or fear. You grin at him and let a condescending sneer curl your lip.

                “Oh, _please._ I know the myths, and I know a thing or two about strategy, and I know for a fact that you picked the single most inefficient method of world takeover there is, just about. So then, what were you really up to?”

                Again, you sense a frisson of fear from Loki, ruthlessly suppressed, and wonder why the thought of revealing his true motives is so frightening to him. He doesn’t speak, though, and you don’t give him time to come up with a believable evasion or lie before the order tumbles from your mouth, as naturally as breathing.

                “Answer me truthfully.”

                His eyes widen and his composure slips for the first time since Thor led him in and he slipped to his knees in exhausted acceptance of his fate. The necklace warms against your throat as his hesitation becomes apparent, and a moment later his body goes rigid with pain. He resists a moment more before giving way and murmuring something, almost too quietly for you to hear.

                “I had no choice.”

                As if the words unlocked something within him, Loki’s eyes narrow, and his fury rolls over you in a wave. He leans forward and repeats himself in a low, dangerous hiss.

                “I had no choice. Did you not say yourself that my ‘strategy’ was foolish? Do you think that _I_ of all people would be so blind?”

                You run through the implications of that statement in your head, and it takes you only a moment to put two and two together.

                “You weren’t in charge. So…who was? And why would you follow them?” You trail off, aware of the sudden thread of fear in his mind, coupled with the abrupt certainty that Loki, like you, would never bow to _anyone_ of his own free will.

                He looks away, no longer willing to meet your eyes, and mutters something under his breath. You don’t press him, just wait, and after a moment he gathers himself and speaks again, louder.

                “His name is Thanos. He is known as the Mad Titan.”

                You don’t need the pendant to sense the whirling roil of emotion, so powerful that Loki is at risk of losing himself in it. Fear, anger, panic, hatred, and helplessness boil together into agonizing terror, nearly paralytic in its potency. You take a steadying breath for your own benefit and pretend for the sake of your new charge’s dignity that you miss the trembling in his clenched hands. Clearly, “free will” was not a factor in the circumstances that led to Loki’s storming of Earth.

                You lean back with deliberate nonchalance and grin at Loki, baring your teeth in a gesture of aggression not aimed at him.

                “Well, Thanos is stupid. Honestly, going for a chokepoint invasion strategy? And using an army with a _connected_ nervous system? What did he think would happen?”

                Loki blinks at you, clearly not having expected the reprieve, and a glimmer of gratitude flashes through his eyes before he shifts gears as smoothly as anyone you’ve ever seen, matching your grin with a little smile of his own.

                “Not stupid, perhaps, but definitely not expecting the resistance he got. To the eyes of most in the other Realms, Midgard is still impossibly primitive and defenseless. It has been many hundreds of years since anyone bothered to visit with anything resembling a delegation. It is no wonder you all managed to catch them off-guard.”

                You frown as you process this; you’re not particularly offended on behalf of earth, but something in his statement sets you on guard.

                “So he knows better, now. Will he try again?” You step back around the coffee table and seat yourself on an armchair, beckoning to Loki to seat himself as well. He does, gingerly, as if worried the furniture will bite him.

After a thoughtful moment, he responds.

“Thanos is quite mad. He fancies himself in love with death. As such he sends her…gifts. Such as entire planets.”

                You blink, but force yourself not to react otherwise as you reevaluate the scale of the threat to your planet.

“So we do not face subjugation, but annihilation?”

                Loki nods grimly.

“Since my plan failed, should Thanos try again, he will spare nothing to destroy everything. I do not know if he will try again, but… he does not take well to being defied.”

                Something tells you that he’s speaking from experience, and you can’t stop your next comment.

                “You must have frustrated him beyond belief.”

                He looks at you blankly for a moment before his lips twist into a wry, bitter smile.

                “Yes, I suppose I did.”

                You hesitate before your next question; you would like not to bruise his pride any more than it already has been, and you suspect you know the answer, but you ask anyway.

                “Why did you say nothing? Surely someone would have listened. Thor most certainly would have.”

                Loki scoffs, then gives you a long, level look before responding. His voice is quiet, but no less full of conviction for it.

                “I would rather be executed as the villain than pitied as a pawn.”

                You nod quietly and don’t dispute the statement. You know the feeling, and if you had been broken as Thanos had broken Loki, you would have gone to any extreme to keep anyone else from finding out.

                “Why did you not warn anyone that he would try again? Surely the Silvertongue could figure out a way to warn of the threat of Thanos without revealing his own entanglement.”

                Loki shrugs. “I doubt Fury would have believed me. I tried to tell Agent Barton, when he was under my command, but I do not know if he retained the information. I might have attempted to warn the Widow, but before I got the chance, I was muzzled and returned to Asgard.” He makes a distasteful face. “And I would not have told Odin had he begged me on his knees.”

                “Can’t judge you for that one. So, we should assume that no one knows, and work from there. How long would we have if Thanos decides to come for us?”

                Loki makes a quiet humming noise in the back of his throat as he thinks. “If he comes personally, and I have no doubt that he will, especially once he realizes I am here, it will take him at least two years to get here. He does not know the paths of Yggdrasil, so he will have to traverse space the normal way, instead of flowing between it.” He looks inordinately proud of himself for a second. “I never did show him where the paths lay. The Chitauri grew too restless for him to spend any more time breaking me, after he had secured my initial…cooperation.”

                You ponder this new information, turning it over in your mind and fitting it into the pattern of what you know already. You don’t like the picture you’re coming up with here.

                “So. Two years, then. And no one else knows, or would believe me, and it cannot be known that you are here.” You tilt your head back to rest it against the armchair and close your eyes, allowing a slow smile to spread over your face.

                “Oh, this will be fun.”


End file.
